Hogwart's Boys
by UniquelyMi
Summary: After Pettigrew escapes to revive Voldemort, Dumbledore does what he should have in Harry's 1st year and explains the prophecy to him, arranging for him to stay at Hogwarts for Occlumency lessons rather than go to the Dursleys. The catch? Snape's the teacher.
1. Summer Arrangments

**Summer Arrangements**

"You asked to see me, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled from behind half-moon spectacles. "Ah, yes, Harry, do have a seat. Lemon drop?"

Having been practically force-fed chocolate for the past day, Harry politely refused the sweet. Dumbledore did not appear unduly upset, but there was a sombre air about him.

"In your first year," he began, "you asked me why Voldemort tried to kill you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, his heart beating faster. Was he going to get an answer?

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. "On a cold, wet night fourteen years ago, I was interviewing an applicant for the post of Divination teacher." Harry couldn't see why this was related, but he kept silent. "To be quite honest, I was disinclined to continue the subject, however, this one particular candidate, Sybil Trelawney, was the great-great-granddaughter of a very gifted, very famous Seer, and so I agreed to see her as a courtesy. I was disappointed. I told her that I did not think her suited for the post. I turned to leave."

"Professor?"

Rather than reply, Dumbledore gave the basin on the table a swirl. Harry did not have time to wonder when a ghostly figure rose up, speaking in the hoarse tones he had heard earlier.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..._"

The figure dissolved, returning to the basin, leaving Harry stunned.

"This, Harry, is a Pensieve," Dumbledore answered his unspoken question. "In it, memories can be placed for viewing. The memory you just saw was of Professor Trelawney making a prophecy."

Harry's voice took a while to return to him. "So that means – me? I'm the one who was -" he tried to remember what she had said.

"Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies," Dumbledore quoted. "There was another person, however, who heard the prophecy, a Death Eater. He was discovered and subsequently thrown out, but what he heard, he reported to his master. And Voldemort resolved to destroy the threat."

"So he tried to kill me."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "As it so happened, there were two people who could have fulfilled that part of the prophecy. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

"_Neville_?" Harry was not able to stop his exclamation of shock. He flushed. "Er…so it might not be me?" he covered up.

"I am afraid, Harry, that it _is_ you. The prophecy could have applied to either of you, but in choosing you, Voldemort marked you as his equal, thus fulfilling the second part."

Harry's scar had never felt so conspicuous and he reached up, half-wanting to flatten his hair over it. "That can't be right."

"Pardon?"

"That can't be right," Harry repeated, feeling the way he had when Hagrid had told him he was a wizard. "I – I'm not good at magic, well, not like Hermione. I don't have any 'power he knows not' or whatever it was! How can -"

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Not all power is dark and arcane. At the age of thirteen, you have already defied Voldemort twice, which is something many full-grown wizards cannot say. Further, I believe that, when Voldemort tried to kill you and your mother sacrificed herself, he transferred some powers to you, making you his equal. This is why you can speak Parseltongue despite not being a descendent of Salazar Slytherin and this, I believe, will potentially give you a mental connection to Voldemort."

"Sir?"

"Perhaps you wonder why I am telling you this now," Dumbledore said. Harry nodded, wondering if he wouldn't rather know after all. "Professor Trelawney made another prophecy recently."

Harry was unable to repress an intense surge of hatred against Trelawney, who had destroyed his life with the only two true prophecies she had made. "A prophecy, Professor?"

He received a nod. "You witnessed it yourself, in fact. This prophecy told that Voldemort would rise again, and soon." Harry blinked, remembering how Trelawney's voice had changed in the middle of his exam. That had been a _prophecy_? "As such, I wish to give you Occlumency training." He did not wait for Harry's question. "Occlumency is a branch of the mind arts that involves shielding your mind. When Voldemort rises, I want you to be able to protect yourself against mental attacks, for Voldemort _will_ attack."

"Yeah." Harry did not meet Dumbledore's eyes, though he knew it wasn't his fault. _Just Voldemort's_.

"I want you to remember, Harry, that not all prophecies are fulfilled." Harry's head shot up. "Prophecies tell of a potential path, but this is not the only path. Perhaps, had Voldemort not decided to eliminate you as a threat, you would never have been a threat. It is up to you to decide to let this prophecy rule your life – or not."

"But I can defeat Voldemort."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "It is very likely."

"Then I'll do everything I can." The words fell out of his mouth, but Harry did not take them back.

Dumbledore's smile was sad. "I had thought you might say that."

"So shouldn't I start preparing as soon as possible, then? Sir?"

Dumbledore regarded him for a moment. "Your mother's sacrifice," he said, "lives on in your blood. This is powerful magic; as long as you call your aunt's residence home, Voldemort will not be able to touch you there. However, I suspect you will be in need of Occlumency very soon. If you agree, you will give up that protection and instead spend your summer at Hogwarts learning -"

"Thank you, sir!" Harry exclaimed.

"- with Professor Snape."

His mouth fell open. "What?" He gave Dumbledore a pleading look. "But he hates me! Couldn't you teach me?"

"I am afraid I am a busy man, and Professor Snape is the only other Occlumens of the required calibre," Dumbledore said.

Harry blushed. "Sorry, professor, I didn't mean to imply -"

"No harm done," Dumbledore said easily. "He will also instruct you on certain subjects of his choice."

"And he's agreed?"

"Professor Snape has even more reason to want Voldemort's defeat than you." His gaze was firm, choking Harry's protest that he was a _Slytherin_ in the throat.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Severus Snape surveyed the boy left in his charge with distaste and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. How had Dumbledore thought this could possibly be a good idea? But Dumbledore had looked at him with those obscene twinkling eyes of him and he had had no choice but to accept.

He was beginning to regret it already.

"Well," he snapped finally. "Your possessions have already been moved to the quarters adjoining these. As per agreement, all other materials will be supplied. Now, rules. Curfew will be at nine, no exceptions. You will join me for breakfast at eight. The Headmaster expects us to take meals together -" damn Dumbledore and his ideas "- without exception. Most of the castle, including the Great Hall, is closed for the summer. The library has been left for your convenience. I will hold your broom; you will be allowed it as a _reward_." He emphasized the word. "Though our relationship is atypical, I am still your professor and as such you will address me as 'professor' or 'sir'. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Potter sounded just as reluctant to be there as him, which was some consolation. If he had to be miserable, so did Potter.

"Other than Occlumency, I will teach you nothing new until I have ascertained that you are proficient in all your other subjects and you have completed your summer homework." He studied Potter for a reaction, but there was none. Lily would have pouted. He shoved the thought out of his consciousness with the ease of a master Occlumens. "I have a reading on Occlumency which you will complete by the end of next week and write an essay detailing what Occlumency is and how you will learn it before we begin practical studies." He looked mulish at that, which Severus sourly thought must be his father coming out. "That will be all for today. The readings are in your quarters. Follow me."

He didn't glance back to see if Potter had obeyed, leaving with a billow of his robes, but covertly used surface Legilimency to make sure. It wouldn't do to lose the boy on the first day.

The air grew colder as they descended into the dungeon, but the temperature sensitive heating charms he cast on his robes when they didn't affect the potions he brewed kept him warm. Potter, however, likely didn't even know what heating charms were. Even walking in front, Severus could tell the boy was shivering, dressed for summer heat. He ignored him, walking in silence until they reached a simple door.

"This, Potter, is where you will be staying for the duration of this summer. The door to my quarters is protected." He indicated the door a few paces over. "There is also a door linking our quarters. I will know if you violate curfew."

Potter muttered something under his breath, which Severus ignored, not wanting to deal with the boy. He opened the door instead.

The room was warmer than the rest of the dungeon, and Potter was visibly relieved to be out of the cold. Severus was tempted to lower the temperature, but decided against it. Even he had a limit.

"I will be in my room. Begin your homework."

As he turned to leave, a sudden thought occurred to him. "Potter," he snapped.

"What?" Potter asked. "Sir," he added as an afterthought.

"I am aware that you have a map of Hogwarts and an invisibility cloak. Give them both to me."

Potter gaped in outrage. "You can't do that!"

Severus sneered. "I am your professor, Potter," he said silkily, "and those items will be confiscated. Take it up with the headmaster if you wish."

"I'm not giving them to you!"

Annoyed, Severus stepped forward. "_Give them to me_, unless you have a sudden desire to be cleaning cauldrons for the remainder of this summer."

"_No!_"

His patience gave out. Potter was staring him firmly in the eyes (a habit Severus had to break him of), and it was simple to Legilimize the locations out of him. Potter's protests and attempts to stop Severus was futile; Severus brushed them off with ease and took the invisibility cloak and map.

"There," he said. "That wasn't difficult."

Potter glared at him, his eyes glazed over with furious tears, and for a moment he saw a spark of Lily. A familiar stab of pain crossed him and he grimaced, quickly turning it into a scowl.

"That's all I have of my parents, you git!"

Severus's sneer was half-hearted. That was it? An invisibility cloak and a map? He remembered something. "Lying, now, Potter? I am perfectly aware that Hagrid gave you an album."

"Oh, so you're going to take away my only pictures too! You're an evil, foul -"

Severus flicked a silencing charm at him. "Your aunt has pictures of both your parents," he said dismissively.

"Really? Well, I never saw any!"

Even as he refuted that sharply, the words gave him pause. He could remember Lily crying, more than once, that Petunia hated her; perhaps she _had_ gone that far.

But Potter did not seem in any way like someone who had been so much as neglected. He was a bit thin, true, but so had been Potter – James Potter – for years, and Lily hadn't been on the stout side either. And he was defiant, arrogant, swept up by his fame and fortune, broke all the rules of Hogwarts like he really was as important as the Wizarding world claimed, had revered his truant father from the day he step foot in Hogwarts. He certainly hadn't seen anything _Severus_ had.

Potter let out a stream of obscenities.

"Detention," Severus snapped automatically. "I will have a task for you," he amended, running through appropriate punishments for Potter, now that he had an entire summer. "And stop slandering your relatives, you ungrateful thing. They took you in for no gain of their own."

Whatever he said clearly affected Potter, who clenched his fists, his face turning red.

"They kept me in a bloody cupboard until my letter came!" he screamed. "I had _bars _on my window when Fred and George rescued me – _ask them_! They hated me and my parents and I hope you and them rot in HELL!"

Severus was blasted out of the room, the door slamming shut. Seething, he revaluated the punishment he had planned for Potter as well as lessons for emotional control.

But in the back of his mind, the niggling question persisted. Could Potter be telling the truth?


	2. Tension

**Tension**

Breakfast was sullen the next morning. Severus didn't particularly mind – he rarely conversed with the other professors – but the furious thoughts he could practically hear, even without actively employing Legilimency, were detracting from the quality of his meal. His lip curled in contempt. Even before setting foot in Hogwarts, Severus had already learned to conceal his emotions from people with power.

Kept in a cupboard, his arse. He should have known better than to entertain anything that came out of Potter's mouth. Anyone who had been subjected to any discipline knew better than to stab a fork in their food and glare at their guardian as if imagining the other's face where their fork landed.

What was Dumbledore thinking? he wondered again. Staying with Potter had only taught him what he already knew – the boy was just like his father; no, he was _worse _than his father. James Potter could, at least, loathe as he was to admit it, sweet-talk a professor like a Slytherin. Potter could not do even that.

Caught in his thoughts, Severus only belatedly noticed that Potter had shoved his chair back, his food half-eaten, and moved to walk out. "Sit down, Potter," he snapped. "You may have always been permitted to take others' labour for granted, but not with me. Finish your meal."

"I'm not hungry," Potter bit out. It was clear that he was mentally adding, _Not when you're there_.

Oh, how he itched to curse the boy. But he stayed himself, partly because of Dumbledore (and Lily, but he didn't think about that), partly because there was more joy to be derived from verbally deriding Potter until he broke at the knowledge of his worthlessness. For years he had been chased by Potter – James Potter – and his friends, numbers overwhelming him. Now, he had Potter alone and helpless.

"How have I instructed you to address me?"

Potter's eyes locked furiously with his. Severus sneered back at the boy's pathetic attempt to glare him into submission. "You have," he said softly, "an entire summer under my care. It is up to you how you wish that summer to pass."

He could see Potter slowly work his mind around the threat; he wondered whether the concept of an unpleasant summer had ever been presented to the boy before. The temptation to glance through the boy's thoughts was strong, but he – even he – wasn't immoral enough. Instead, he simply let his eyes bore into Potter's until he looked away.

"Sir." The submission was reluctant, bitter, but irrefutably given and Severus repressed a smile. So he _could_ think. Severus did not remove his gaze until Potter slowly lowered himself back into his seat and resumed his meal.

"Have you begun your summer assignments?"

"No," Potter replied sullenly. Then, before Severus had a chance to do more than scowl, he added, "Sir."

"I expect you to have made progress by the end of today."

"Yes, sir."

"We will discuss your punishment for yesterday's infractions later."

Potter looked like he was biting down a retort, but he replied stiffly, "When, professor?"

Severus looked up. "In the future, which does tend to be the common definition of later."

Potter did not reply, but Severus did not bother faulting him for it, merely storing the disrespect mentally.

Fortunately, that was the extent of Severus's interaction with the Gryffindor for the morning, as they finished breakfast in silence and Severus could finally retreat to the potions room and purge his thoughts of Potter.

* * *

If there was one advantage of living with Snape, Harry thought uncharitably several days later, it was that Hedwig was free, though he doubted that would last long. Snape clearly delighted in taking everything he cared about away from him. If it wasn't for Dumbledore, he would wager that he'd be living in a cauldron.

And not a large one.

Speaking of cauldrons, Harry looked at the progress he had made on his homework and found only a detailed sketch of Snape drowning in an overly large cauldron, a fire vindictively ensuring that the death was not painless. Harry sighed, knowing that the picture would only result in another night of scrubbing or peeling, and folded it, stuffing it in one of the many books Snape was forcing him to read (in addition to the Occlumency texts, he had supplementary material for all his classes). When Hedwig returned, he was sure Ron would appreciate it as it deserved, but until then, it had to remain hidden.

"Progress, Potter?" a voice said from the doorway and Harry jumped. Snape sneered. "Clearly not." Fortunately, he did not ask about the book Harry was clutching in his hand, throwing what Harry discovered with horror was a torn up homework assignment onto his desk. "Redo this."

Harry gaped, speechless with fury. "I worked _hard_ on that!" He wasn't even lying; it was habit for him to put effort into summer homework, simply because he had always valued it so much.

Snape's dark eyes glittered with contempt. "Perhaps by your standards of hard work, Potter. Unfortunately, the professors have higher expectations. Though your mind appears to be incapable of retaining the fact, they include me."

"I'll respect you if you respect me," he bit out, knowing that Snape was once again referring to his refusal to call him 'sir'.

The contempt took on a dangerous note. "If I respect _you_? What, Potter, makes you worthy of my respect?" A pause. "Your fame, perhaps, that you flaunt so happily?" Harry clenched his teeth, repeating to himself, _Don't get angry, it's not worth it, it's not worth it_. "Or are you simply just superior to others by default, _Potter_?"

He said nothing and Snape continued. "Your father was just like you." His voice was silky. "Arrogant, attention-seeking, thinking that the world was his to take -"

"Shut up!" Harry snapped, sick of hearing the same thing over and _over_ again. "Shut up about my dad! You don't know anything about him, you -"

Snape was _amused_, the git. "Yes, let's hear it, Potter. What have you learned about your illustrious father in the one and a half years you knew him that needs telling?"

Harry took a deep breath, trembling with fury and shock that Snape would invoke _that_. "You _bastard_," he whispered.

Unfortunately, Snape heard.

After receiving a long lecture that Harry tuned out on about how he was an insignificant, privileged brat with an overly inflated ego, Snape called what Harry recognized as a house elf. It disappeared, only to reappear soon after with a cabinet. Harry was not in the mood to ask why Hogwarts had house elves.

"Thank you, Potter, for providing me with this opportunity to complete a task Filch has been speaking of for years." He opened a drawer stuffed with paper – it took Harry a moment to realize it was filled with cards. "Detention cards," Snape announced. "Every night after dinner, beginning tonight, until you are finished, you will copy the contents onto the fresh cards provided. After all, we wouldn't want these students' exploits to be forgotten." His sneer was satisfied, which Harry knew bode ill for him. "You might find some…familiar names as you work."

Snape left with a reminder that he expected the redone assignment by the next day, leaving Harry staring blankly at the torn shreds of his work. He hadn't thought anything could be worse than the Dursleys, but Snape had proved him wrong.

He didn't know how long he could go on like this before he snapped.

With a sigh, he roused himself and tried to arrange the pieces of parchment together so that he could make out what he had tried to write; it was more difficult than it should have been because many times he couldn't read his handwriting. But finally, he had arranged it so that he could see what he wrote.

It looked fine. He couldn't see what Snape was complaining about, and Snape had given no explanation. The assignment had been relatively straightforward – to compare and contrast inanimate to animate transfiguration to animate to inanimate transfiguration and, as far as he could tell, he had done just that. Bafflement replaced his anger, which steadily changed back into anger. It was just like Snape to destroy his work for no reason; he supposed he should count himself lucky that it hadn't been Vanished entirely or thrown into the fire. Snape always destroyed everything, and it was _so unfair_…

His thoughts would have continued in that vein if he had not heard the rush of wings and saw a white object fly through the window. Hedwig! Harry rushed to his bird, who nipped him affectionately before holding out her leg for him to take the letter.

It was from Hermione. Irrationally, Harry's heart sank; he'd been hoping for a letter from Sirius, though he knew Sirius never replied through Hedwig. Still, while commiserating, the single letter he had received from Sirius since summer began and made him yearn for more.

But letters from Hermione were equally wonderful, if more wordy, and he smiled as he opened it.

_Dear Harry,_

_I'm sorry you've been having a hard time with Professor Snape, though I'm sure he means the best. _Here Harry snorted. _He can be rather harsh. No, I really do think he's trying to help you. I've bought the titles he assigned to read and they're really very good, though maybe a bit advanced. Occlumency sounds fascinating. I'll try to learn it along with you, though of course, it won't be nearly like having an actual teacher._

From there, Hermione proceeded to cover two pages and a half of her tiny writing regarding what she had learned about Occlumency and the various other subjects Snape wanted Harry to read about. Normally, Harry would have skimmed over it with fond exasperation, but now he fervently thanked Hermione and read every word with care. He _had_ tried reading the texts, honest. He'd just barely understood a word.

Hermione's explanation, by contrast, went on some tangents but was largely comprehensible and Harry found himself with the best understanding of Occlumency he had had so far.

The problem, Harry mused, was that he'd been looking for something…fancier. Like building castles within fiery mindscapes defended by grim-like dogs or mazes for potential attackers to wander into. Occlumency had sounded grand and mythical and arcane, sounded like something that common sense had no place in.

_The first rule of Occlumency is to avoid eye contact._

Well, he'd been breaking that one on a daily basis.

Hermione's assertion that Dumbledore's insistence on these lessons suggested that that rule didn't really apply when it came to him and Voldemort was of no comfort. He knew he _had_ read something about how most Legilimens needed to maintain eye contact, and he definitely knew that Snape was a Legilimens.

What had Snape been seeing?

He grimaced. And what if Snape _was_ really good at Legilimency? Well, there was nothing for it – he had to master Occlumency, and fast.

But the rest of Hermione's explanation was, while still intuitive, less easily obeyed. Clear his mind? How was he supposed to do that? Focusing on a thought that was either inane or unpleasant to the invader seemed easier, but Hermione warned that even the most boring thoughts (like counting) could provide a "path" for the invader into his thoughts, whatever that meant.

And that was a _simple_ defence that might not stop a determined and powerful invader. The next step was to be able to recognize foreign influences and repel them, something that would take self-awareness and willpower.

Only then could he even say he had learned Occlumency. Historically, skilled Occlumens, according to Hermione, had been able to completely block their minds from invasion, craft false memories, trap an invader in their minds, lie under Veritaserum, even drive invaders insane.

Harry did not realize he was staring, amazed by the power of this art that barely even seemed, at first glance, like magic.

The explanation of Occlumency took up most of Hermione's letter. After that, she talked about what she had been doing, which Harry summarized as not much more since she had last written him, discussed Sirius, and asked about his health. But it was not the neat writing the caught Harry's eye but the hastily scribbled postscript at the bottom.

_PS. Harry, I feel like I shouldn't, since it's summer homework, but since Professor Snape's giving you so little time, I'll look over any homework you think you need help on._

There it was, staring at him, the solution to his current dilemma. Hermione would know why Snape wasn't satisfied; Hermione knew everything. And without further ado, forgetting temporarily about Occlumency, he picked up his quill.

_Dear Hermione, _

_Thanks for your explanation of Occlumency – it helped me a lot. I think I'm going to take you up on that offer for help. Snape ripped up my Transfiguration essay – the one comparing animate to inanimate transfiguration to inanimate to animate transfiguration - without explaining why…_

* * *

Severus sneered as he read Potter's essay. It wasn't that it was bad. While the work wasn't stellar, Severus did not feel the urge to eviscerate, verbally or otherwise, Potter after reading it. He lifted his quill to make corrections, smugly satisfied to find proof that his assessment of Potter was correct. All it had taken was a sharp scolding to make him work harder and actually try to understand the material.

Even the handwriting had improved somewhat.

He finished quickly – one essay was nothing to him, after his years of teaching – and contemplated his charge. He should have begun teaching Potter Occlumency already, strictly speaking. Potter had finished the reading and written a decent essay on it. There was no reason for him to rewrite it three times.

No, Severus was stalling and he knew it. But the very idea of spending any more time than he already was with Potter was abhorrent. And it was _Occlumency_ he was teaching – Occlumency, which was all about mental will, self-discipline, and knowing oneself. Severus had no desire to get to know Potter, but unfortunately, he would have to do just that to teach him.

In the privacy of his room, he made no effort to conceal a grimace. Blast Dumbledore. If it were up to Severus, he would have just taken the faster approach and repeatedly attacked Potter's mind until he learned to fend off attacks. But no, of _course _Potter had to be coddled, never mind that he could never achieve the mental discipline necessary for Occlumency. If Severus could convince him that the world did not, in fact, revolve around him, he would count that a miracle.

Well, there was nothing for it. He might as well begin now. With a sigh, Severus rose and stalked towards Potter's room, flinging open the door in hopes that he could, at least, startle the boy.

He smirked as Potter jumped, which turned into a frown when he noticed Potter very transparently attempt to shove a piece of parchment under the perpetual pile on his desk. "Give me that."

"Professor?" Potter's gaze was fixed above his head – so he _had_ learned something from those readings – but Severus didn't need Legilimency to know when Potter was hiding something from him. He told himself that he was certainly not grateful that that accusing green-eyed stare was directed at the wall.

"The parchment," he snapped instead. "Yes, Potter, I did see you move it."

Slowly, reluctantly, Potter took it and handed it to him. Severus looked it over, quickly registering that it was an essay Potter had wrote with correction marks over it. It took more time to realize that someone other than Severus had made those marks.

Granger, then, it had to be Granger. He sneered, not a little disappointed. He'd honestly thought Potter had put effort, but clearly, the only solution that had occurred to Potter had been to go to his more intelligent friend. Well, that would change.

"So." He drew out the word. "It appears you are incapable of completing anything without parasitizing off others."

Potter was silent.

"Your coward of a father couldn't either." Potter visibly choked back a retort and Severus felt a wave of satisfaction. "He never attacked anyone if the odds weren't four to one, delighted in coercing others to do work for him -"

"It's not about that!"

"Yes, let's hear what your father wasn't, Potter, though I'm sure you've found that the detention records say otherwise. I'm sure there was some _noble_ motive for -"

"I only asked because you never told me what was wrong with my essays!"

Severus barely noticed that Potter had as good as admitted that Severus was right about his father in his shock. He rapped Potter on his skull; Potter glared at him. "You have a brain, Potter," he drawled. "It is expected that you use it."

Potter's expression suggested that the boy had never heard of the concept of using his brain. "I'm sorry that I couldn't see what was wrong with it, _professor_." He had the gall to sound defiant.

"And can you still not imagine what I might be criticizing, or are you mindlessly obeying Granger?" Potter could not retort. "As I thought. I will write to Miss Granger, explaining my displeasure. You will not send her another owl until I give you permission, and if I find you have defied me, you will regret you were ever born."

"You can't -"

"It is past time you have learned that you cannot hide behind others!" Severus roared. "That you cannot expect others, more worthy than you, to sacrifice for you so you can avoid consequences! Th -" He cut himself off abruptly before he had to admit to himself that he was blaming Potter for Lily's death, so that he could happily revile and torment his nemesis without feeling like he was being unjust.

"I keep telling you, the Dursleys didn't _pamper_ me!"

That Potter had so completely misinterpreted his words only infuriated Severus further. "Then _tell me_, Potter, where did you learn this reliance on others? Who taught you to disregard others' sacrifices for your own amusement?"

Potter looked away and Severus knew he was thinking about his illegal trips to Hogsmeade. "All you _ever_ tell me is that I've failed. Maybe if you _did your job_ and gave me an explanation, I wouldn't have to rely on Hermione."

He looked completely unashamed of his excuse. "And Miss Granger? Is she, then, privy to secrets you aren't?"

"Hermione's just smarter than me," Potter muttered.

"Then DIE!" The words were more vehement than Severus had intended, but he meant them. "Then give up, give up your parents' sacrifices, give up your relatives' care, give up all the effort the wizarding world has poured into you and die!"

Potter just gaped at him and Severus stared back, panting slightly. After a long moment, he turned on his heel to leave, then remembered why he'd come. "Occlumency lessons begin tomorrow."

* * *

Harry stabbed his pen at the blank detention card, cursing under his breath when the tip snapped. He took out a knife to re-trim the quill, doing his best to keep his hand from shaking and messing up. He hated Snape. He hated copying these cards. He hated his life. He even hated Dumbledore for putting him with Snape.

_Then die_, he remembered. Why didn't _Snape_ die? Do the world a favour.

He did not admit to himself the uncomfortable thought that Snape might be right, that giving up and asking for help would not always be an option. Instead, he dipped the quill into ink and looked at the card he was to be copying.

Once again, it was his father and Sirius, in trouble for what sounded like a vicious prank.

More than anything else, Harry hated that Snape might have been right about James Potter.

**Note: My views on Occlumency have been influenced by various other works of Fanfiction, most notably Forging the Sword by Myst Shadow.**


	3. Occlumency Lessons

**Occlumency Lessons**

"What is your boggart, Potter?"

"A dementor," was the grudging reply.

Severus noted this down. "What do you hear when dementors are near you?"

"My parents. Dying."

"I believe you have had the opportunity to see a mirror of Erised. What is your reflection?"

"What does this have to do with Occlumency?"

"Did you think about what you were copying down at all, Potter?" Severus snapped. "Or did you think you knew everything there was to know about yourself?"

"I don't see why I have to tell _you_," Potter shot back.

"Professor."

A pause. "Professor," Potter added grudgingly.

"To instruct you in Occlumency, I must – unfortunately – know you. This process, naturally, requires _trust_. There are options that would involve less conversation, but the Headmaster has deemed them unnecessarily brutal and only to be employed if we find ourselves short on time. What is your reflection?"

Potter looked down. "My family, surrounding me."

Severus hid a grimace, already able to sense that he would be confronting Lily's death sometime during this process. "What is your favourite spell?"

Potter shrugged. "Expelliarmus?"

"Your favourite number?"

His expression was completely bewildered now. "I don't know – I've never –"

Severus resisted the urge to groan. "Do you remember what the Sorting Hat told you?"

Potter appeared distinctly uncomfortable. "Something about courage, not a bad mind, and talent, and…"

"And what?"

"It told me that I would be great if I went to Slytherin," Potter rushed out.

Of all the things Severus had been expecting to hear, that wasn't it. "_What?_"

"It wanted to put me in Slytherin." Now that Potter wasn't busy being ashamed of the fact, his tone was defensive. "I argued with it until it put me into Gryffindor instead."

"You argued with the Sorting Hat." _And won_, a sour voice added in the back of Severus's head. He tried to ignore it.

Potter nodded and he felt such a rush of resentment that he actively repressed it. Of course, resentment was not an uncommon emotion when it came to Potter, but usually he didn't bother trying to stop it.

"I _am_ a Gryffindor, though," Potter asserted hastily, as if _afraid_ the Head of Slytherin House would suspect he might not belong in the House of red, gold, and foolish recklessness. "I pulled the Sword out of the Sorting Hat."

"I assure you, I don't doubt that," Severus snapped. Not after all those stunts he had pulled and, worse, dragged with him the only Gryffindor who had half a brain. "You are a veritable caricature of a Gryffindor, particularly regarding idiotic bravery and arrogant heroics."

Severus had been (slightly) less acerbic than usual, but Potter still seemed torn between being mollified and offended on the behalf of his house. He eventually settled on the former and Severus decided not to press the issue.

"What is the first dream you remember having?"

Potter's face twisted as he tried to think – clearly a painful action. "Green light," he finally decided. "A lot of green light." He laughed, the sound bitter. "I used to think it was from the traffic light when my parents died. I suppose I wasn't that far off the mark."

"Traffic light?"

"It's this thing used to –"

"I know what it is, Potter," Severus cut him off. "What possibly gave you the impression that the light was coming from a traffic light?"

Potter gave him a funny look. "I thought my parents died in a car crash. I always thought it was strange that the light was green, since it would make more sense if it was red, but I didn't really ask questions about that." He paused, and then added, "That does count, doesn't it?"

Severus wasn't entirely sure, since it was more of a memory than a dream, but he didn't want to hear any more about Potter's parents' deaths or his belief that they had died in a _car crash_, of all the stupid muggle things. "Yes," he said. "I will ask more questions as the need arises, but for now, I will expose you to Legilimency. You are not expected to repel me, but do attempt to do more than stand there and allow your mind to be invaded. Do pay attention, because afterwards you will describe your experience. " When Potter said nothing, he snapped, "Well?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply, and Severus nodded curtly. He met Potter's green eyes and bored into them until his vision was swimming with green.

"_Legilimens_."

He almost didn't think it had succeeded, because the first thing he saw was more green, flooding his vision. His stomach turned over when he realized what he was seeing – Potter's memory of Li – of his mum's death. As he realized this, he automatically began reaching for the fainter memories. Potter, in remembering the incident, clearly had turned the light of the Avada Kedavra reflecting off the walls into light filling the entire room, but the scene was still visible to a Legilimens through that.

The baby was crying, its wails echoing off the walls like the green light, but Severus separated infant Potter's terror and pain with the ease of long practice, trying instead to decipher the surroundings.

A beautiful face. Defiant green eyes – though everything else was green too. Long hair splayed out, framing too-sharp cheekbones.

Lily.

Severus swallowed, panic and guiltandgriefandhorror seizing him, and then he was looking not at Lily, but at another, very different redhead, lying unconscious on the floor. He was glad when a voice sounded, calling Potter's attention and allowing Severus to compose himself and relax the unconscious grip he had been holding on Potter's mind.

Now the scenes went by in snatches, as they did when passively invading peoples' minds, and he saw glimpses morphing from a basilisk to a bird bursting into flame to a small, dark room as thunder shook the house to a pile of letters pouring through a fireplace to a dank hut as the door crashed open to running, running, running to a purple-faced man, and then Severus withdrew.

Potter collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his glasses sliding off.

Severus froze as he stared at Potter's prone form, and it was only strict discipline that kept his mind from babbling. What had happened? What had gone wrong? Surely he hadn't done anything to _hurt_ Potter. Had he? He couldn't remember; all he could remember was green, and green eyes. What if something bad had happened? What if he'd k – what if –what if – what if –

As soon as his thoughts stopped even resembling coherent ones, Severus's rational mind kicked in and he took a deep breath. He hadn't been unhinged like that in years. Then, swiftly, he bent down to check his charge's pulse.

It was steady. A wave of relief swept through him, only to transform the next moment into a more customary anger. How _dare_ Potter terrify him like that?

As if on cue, one groggy eyelid opened, and then the other. Potter squinted up at Severus and he conjured a glass of water, putting it down in front of the boy with unnecessary force.

"Drink."

Potter pushed himself up, opening his eyes properly, and took a careful sip. His feet may have been tracing ballet moves, for all Severus knew, because he was instantly transfixed by his eyes. Without the protection of glasses, they were even more like Lily's; in fact, without glasses, Potter seemed somehow less like Severus's arch-nemesis. He felt himself slowly be drawn into Lily's eyes, sink into their painful green…

"Oi!" Potter snapped, and Severus came to his senses so quickly he wasn't sure if he'd been thrown out by Potter or if his exclamation had merely startled him into the real world, even though normally the two sensations were very different. "What, you wanted another go?"

"You – you felt that?"

"Of course I did – it was like a bloody spike was being driven through my head! Through my already throbbing head!"

"Your _throbbing_ head," Severus said, his shock automatically tucked behind sarcasm. "Was it lacerated as well?"

Potter glared, then winced. The animosity in his expression did not lessen. "You made it painful on purpose, didn't you?"

"I did no such thing, Potter, and do not speak to me in that manner."

"You just _tortured_ me!" Potter shouted, and the accusation offended Severus so much (because he had _seen_ people been tortured and how _dare_ Potter say that) that he grabbed the boy by the arm.

"You know _nothing_," he said in a low tone, "about torture. You have no idea what it feels like to have your mind torn apart in search for a particular memory that may or may not exist."

"I don't know what you were doing, but I _definitely_ have an idea now!" A thought suddenly occurred to him. "I bet you don't want me to learn Legilimency. You've fooled Dumbledore and you're just trying to crack my head so that I turn insane! Isn't that –"

Severus stared at him, unable to speak. "Get out," he said, and his usually composed voice trembled. "Go to your room! Do you hear me? Out!"

Apparently Potter realized how serious he was – how close he was to turning his wand on the boy – because he left without even muttering under his breath, only pausing to snatch up his glasses.

* * *

Harry sat on his bed, staring numbly at the blank piece of parchment in front of him. _Describe your experience_, Snape had said, before diving into his mind. Despite what Snape thought, his head felt exactly like a large spike had been pounded through his forehead, even two hours later. He'd never knew his mind could feel sore – but no, his mind didn't feel sore; it felt raw.

Like it had just been torn apart and was now trying to stitch itself back together.

He couldn't really remember what had happened – it was mostly blurred together and covered by a _lot_ of pain. It had started with the green light – that was the part that hurt the most, now that he thought about it. Just thinking about it made him sway in and out of focus, as the memory had. But he seemed to be able to remember the outlines of something else – a face? Ginny?

Now that he thought about it, it did seem like the memory was about the Chamber, or something. But it didn't seem to be exactly that shade of green. He thought about it, but winced.

Stupid Snape. Harry remembered thinking that he might _possibly_ be right about some things, but he'd definitely changed his mind.

"You're just like your father," Harry said, mimicking his voice viciously. "Arrogant, loud-mouthed, reckless, spoiled –"

He wondered what Snape's father had been like. Probably had even greasier hair. He snickered a little, but then clapped his hand to his throbbing forehead.

Stupid Snape.

Harry gritted his teeth as he picked up the quill, dipping it in the inkwell. The last thing he wanted to do was write Snape's stupid assignment, but he knew if he didn't Snape would probably put him through that again.

He put the quill to the parchment.

At that moment there was a loud crack. Harry jumped, accidentally drawing a line. He dropped the quill to clutch his head and glanced at the door. There were no footsteps sounding. Most likely, Snape hoped that Harry was dead.

He spun around, looking for the source of the disturbance.

"_Dobby_?"

"The Great Harry Potter recognizes Dobby!" Yes, it was definitely the house-elf that had tried to save Harry's life and broken his arm. He was no longer in the ragged pillowcase, however. Now he wore the strangest ensemble Harry had ever seen – the sock Harry gave him was on his right foot, so large it nearly went up to his knee. On his other foot was a bright, striped sock in colours normally only seen on Dumbledore. For a hat he wore a teabag, and Harry didn't even know what it was that covered the rest of him.

"What – what are you doing here?"

"Dobby is working for Hogwarts now! Dobby is liking being free, but Dobby cannot find work. Dobby likes work, but Dobby likes being free more, so Dobby wants to be paid. But nobody hired Dobby. 'That is not the point of a house-elf', they say. Then Dobby hears that the Great Harry Potter is staying at Hogwarts, so Dobby is deciding to work here too!"

Harry couldn't help it – his face split into a grin. "That's great! Do you like it here?"

Dobby nodded earnestly. "Yes, Harry Potter, sir. But Dobby is hearing that the Great Harry Potter is unhappy here." He looked up with concern. "Is there anything Dobby can be doing for Harry Potter sir?"

Harry chuckled a little. "No – not unless you can get rid of Snape." Dobby shook his head, his bat-like ears flopping. He winced and brought his hand to his scar. Dobby's large eyes followed the motion.

"Is Mr. Harry Potter sir's forehead hurting?" Suddenly Dobby's face lit up. "I can be getting Mr. Harry Potter sir something for that!"

Two loud cracks later (that did not help Harry's head), Dobby was back carrying a vial of –

"Headache potion, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby announced proudly. "It will be killing your nasty pain!"

"Thanks a lot, Dobby!" For once, something the house-elf did to help Harry wasn't getting him hurt. He took it and drank it in one gulp. Immediately, Harry's head stopped throbbing.

"Is there anything else Dobby can be doing for the Great Harry Potter?"

Harry was just opening his mouth to say no when a thought occurred to him. "Actually, there is one thing. Can you take letters to people?"

* * *

_I'm sorry, it's been forever since I've updated this. And the chapter's short too. I had half of it written and then...life happened._

_Originally I wanted to follow this to something like Voldemort being defeated, but I've decided that the main plot of the story is just the relationship between Severus and Harry, so once I finish that arc, the continuous part of the story will be done. I'll probably add a few snippets, but they won't be in any sort of order._

_Here's hoping the next chapter will come faster! Also, I'm divided on having the twins + Ron try to rescue Harry after receiving his letter. Your opinions?_


	4. Over the Edge

**Over the Edge**

A muffled crack broke Severus's sleep. Immediately he was awake and out of bed, wand at the ready. He froze, his ears nearly twitching as he listened to the footsteps.

Potter's room. Whoever it was was in Potter's room.

He barely thought as he dashed out, only pausing to silence the sound of his feet. Surely it wasn't the Dark Lord—and yet that was the only person he could think of that could get into Hogwarts. Potter wasn't screaming—was that a good sign or a bad sign? He could tell from the footsteps and muffled voices that there were three people there.

With a spell, he flicked the door open and then swept his wand across the room to create an invisible net that caught up the intruders before they had a chance to scream. A flick of his wand rendered them unconscious.

It was not the Dark Lord. The realization allowed him to relax, though his grip on his wand didn't loosen. Then the rest of the situation caught up with him.

Shock of red hair. Freckles. Three tall and lanky boys. A contrite house-elf huddling in the corner in fright, hitting himself over the head repeatedly. Potter with his sullen eyes—so like and unlike hers—that seemed to be deciding whether or not to be guilty.

"What is this?"

Potter averted his eyes.

An act of self-preservation or honest fear that Severus would legilimize the answer out of him? Severus pushed aside the sudden sting with ease of long practice. "What did I see when I used Legilimency on you?"

"Green light? Ginny—the Chamber of Secrets?" The confusion was enough to confirm that it was Potter—a Death Eater would have expected to be questioned. He spun on his heel before he could say anything and strode towards the net. "What are you doing! Hey!"

Severus didn't even look at him to throw a silencing spell at him. Later, he would have to confront Potter. Later. "_Ennervate_," he hissed. Weasley—Ronald Weasley—moaned a little as he woke up. His eyes locked onto Severus's and he turned completely white. "How was your previous wand broken?"

"Wha?"

Immediately, Severus's wand was under the boy's chin. "Your wand, Weasley. Unless you've broken more than one?"

He seemed to at least recognize that he was being asked a question to verify his identity—unlike Potter, who apparently had never heard of that. "The Whomping Willow hit it. We crashed a car into it—but it wasn't our fault, the barrier was sealed—"

"Spare me, Weasley."

Something in his tone must have registered, because Weasley's jaw closed with a snap. He remained silent while Severus questioned his idiot brothers. Satisfied, he beckoned at the house-elf, not quite trusting Potter to refrain from attacking him if he wasn't watching. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Hey!"

"It wasn't his fault!"

"He was just trying to save Harry because you were _torturing_ him!"

His head spun violently. "Silence! I am well aware you idiot children helped compromise the safety of Hogwarts—and believe me, I _will_ be writing your parents. Now, for once in your life, do something useful and shut up." The beginnings of a headache rammed at his temples. In front of him, the house-elf was shrinking back even further. "What if they were Death Eaters pretending to be Potter's friends?" Large droplets were falling out of the elf's tennis-ball eyes. He pressed ruthlessly on. "You are not to bring anyone—_anyone_—inside the school without the Headmaster's permission."

"Dobby is sorry!" His fingers grasped at his ears, twisting them compulsively. "Dobby will not do it again!"

"Stop that and return to your duties."

But instead of disappearing with the characteristic crack, the house-elf looked anxiously up at Severus, wringing his hands. "Master Snape will not hurt Harry Potter?"

"No, I won't hurt a student. Now go!"

Dobby squeaked in fear. Throwing a glance at Potter, he vanished.

Severus resisted the urge to rub his forehead. He lifted his wand but paused, the patronus spell on his lips. He had a rather damning patronus. Of course, none of these idiots knew what a patronus was, much less the significance of his. "_Expecto patronum_!"

The shining doe burst out of his wand and charged out the window. Was it his imagination, or did it look at Potter? No matter. "You three. I have contacted your mother. Until she comes for you, remain here." He was tempted to let them remain bound, but Molly Weasley would undoubtedly object to that. Fortunately, even the Weasley twins seemed subdued.

Severus made the mistake of looking at Potter. His headache returned in full force.

* * *

Harry looked at the floor, at the ceiling, at the wall, anywhere but at Snape and his black eyes. If eyes were the window to the soul, Snape's were accurate—looking into them was like looking into voids. Ron disappeared through the fire, leaving Harry alone with Snape.

"So," Snape drawled, circling around like a hawk bearing down on prey. "Famous Harry Potter thinks he can do whatever he wants. Albus Dumbledore says he needs to learn Occlumency, but no, famous Harry Potter knows better than Dumbledore. Nothing matters more than famous Harry Potter. Harry Potter will happily endanger himself and others because he wants to go back to his pampered, spoiled life where—"

"SHUT UP! Shut up! You have no idea—"

"Don't speak to me like that!"

Harry saw red. Weeks upon weeks of constant verbal abuse, Occlumency lessons that left his mind feeling like it had been violently raped, his parents insulted and his father's last heirlooms taken away. It was all too much. He felt like his head was going to explode. In a smooth motion, he drew his wand—

And it flew away, into Snape's hand.

"I should curse you for that," Snape snarled, advancing. "I understand, Potter, that you are used to a more _privileged_ lifestyle." He spat the word with all the explosive force of a hand grenade. "Your relatives cater to your every need, you are surrounded by the adulation—"

"My relatives hate me! They locked me in a cupboard for ten years of my life! A CUPBOARD! They—"

"A small room does not a cupboard make, Potter, contrary to what you may think. It seems your father died too late, to make you so arrogant, or perhaps it's simply the genes—"

He could scarcely breathe, the pressure was so great. Cursing Snape would release the pent-up fury, or punching him, but neither recourse was available to him. "They treated me like a servant! They made me weed the garden, and cook breakfast, and—" He stumbled over his words in his fury.

"So you had to do chores."

He wasn't _listening_. "It wasn't just _chores_! They put _bars_ over the windows, you can ask the Weasley twins, they saw them, and Dudley was always trying to beat me up. They thought I was a _freak_, okay, not some kind of saviour or whatever you think. I had to do _all_ the work, and they didn't give me food—"

"Was famous Harry Potter's family not up to his expectations?"

"THEY ABUSED ME! They weren't—"

"DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT ABUSE!" Snape roared.

"What makes you so qualified? Your parents were ALIVE! You weren't in the hands of people who hated you! YOU'RE an arrogant cad, if anyone—I bet _you _were living it up like Draco Malfoy in a mans—"

"Don't assume what I was or wasn't, Potter!"

"THEN DON'T ASSUME WHAT I WAS OR WASN'T!"

Both of them ignored the explosion, their eyes locked furiously in each other's. How _dare_ he, Harry thought. The time Petunia threw a frying pan at him. The mornings spent flipping bacon while Dudley stumbled into the kitchen. Stacks of presents that he couldn't touch. Running from Dudley and his gang until he tripped over a rock and fell, scraping his knee painfully, knowing more pain was to come.

"DON'T TALK ABOUT THINGS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND—"

But whatever it was Harry didn't understand, he didn't get a chance to hear. He was suddenly trapped inside memories, which tore painfully—Legilimency! Clear your mind—but he was huddled in the dark while thunder pounded around him, being shoved into the cupboard, running for his life and appearing on the roof, singing Happy Birthday to himself, being chased up a tree, putting a couple soggy vegetables in Hedwig's cage, listening to Vernon call his parents drunks…He couldn't see Snape anymore, didn't know anything but his memories and his desire to kill Snape, to rip him apart, to see his own memories and teach him a lesson—

And then the images changed. Four boys approaching him, while a circle of onlookers watched, and the one in the front—James Potter, it must have been—raised his wand and said _Levicorpus_ and he dangled helplessly in the air while everybody laughed. Standing in front of his bed, his hands gripping the post tightly and his eyes closed shut, screaming when the thud of the belt echoed over his back. Huddled—so much like Harry—in a corner while his parents raged, sounding half-crazed. His father storming out and his mother sinking to the floor, sobbing.

He was glad when Snape threw him out of his mind. They stood there, panting, looking at each other. Harry wanted to throw up. His _father_, who everyone assured him had been brave and honourable and brilliant had bullied a neglected, abused boy while everyone laughed. No wonder Snape hated his memory.

And Snape's own parents. Harry's relatives had hated him, but at least he'd had parents who sacrificed themselves for him. At least he'd had a stable home.

If he threw up, would what he'd seen be excised from his brain?

He stared at Snape. He knew, by now, that the professor would have seen everything he saw. For once, the man's face was not a complete blank slate, and his eyes glittered with _something _other than contempt. Or was it contempt? Harry broke the gaze first. He had never, ever told anyone the things he had shouted at Snape. He thought he never would.

Snape swept out of the room with a billow of black robes.

* * *

_And we've reached the extent of my planning! I could wrap this up in two chapters, or I could go on longer and get more closure. Also, suggestions for events would be appreciated. I'll try to get the next chapter out before New Year, but no promises. Please comment on my characterizations in this scene!_


	5. The Trouble With Honesty

**The Trouble With Honesty**

"Set the table, Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"Grind the doxy eggs, Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"Finish your History of Magic essay, Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"Stop being such an idiot, Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"Clean the cauldrons, Potter."

"Yes, sir."

Severus sighed as Potter set to work without a word of protest. Since his accidental invasion on Potter's mind, the boy hadn't spoken unless absolutely necessary. Severus almost wished they were arguing again—anything other than this self-enforced silence.

He looked over at the boy, who sat with his head bent over the cauldrons, scrubbing diligently. The open book had closed off completely. It was disconcerting to not hear Potter's scathing thoughts rolling off him.

So he had been abused. Lily's son—Lily, so bright, so brilliant—Lily's son had been neglected and abused by Lily's sister and her whale of a husband. It was to Potter's credit that he was relatively well-adjusted, considering the childhood he'd gone through. Suddenly Potter's heroics were less the actions of a boy with an overinflated ego (Lockhart, but ten times worse) and more of a child who'd learned early to distrust authority.

He was still an idiot, though.

"That's enough, Potter," Severus said, though the boy was only half finished. He froze, shocked. "Put that away and then come here."

He even _walked_ quietly now.

"I think you would benefit from learning Legilimency—you can't possibly be worse at it than Occlumency."

"Sir?"

"I am going to teach you Legilimency, Potter. _Try_ to keep up."

"But—who would I practice it on?"

"Me, of course. Who else is in your vicinity?"

"But you—isn't that—?"

"I assure you, Potter, I am a master Occlumens and by far capable of resisting your attempts. I believe you may take to Legilimency more easily than Occlumency—you did it naturally, without a wand, when you repelled me."

Potter looked away.

"This is nothing to be ashamed of—though I will be disappointed if you fail to perform."

"I'm not sorry," Potter muttered. "Sir."

Severus eyed him, but chose not to respond. "There are, as you should remember from your Occlumency reading, two types of Legilimency. The first is surface Legilimency, which does not require a wand. Few people can perform this, but it allows the user to see the immediate thoughts of others."

"And you're able to perform it."

Severus inclined his head. "The second kind is more invasive and accesses memories. This does not take energy on either part unless you search for a particular memory or the subject resists. The wand motion is a short jab, like so. As you perform the spell on me, do your best to avoid searching for any memory. I will expel you when I see fit."

"I—I'm just going to do the spell? Now?"

"It's as good a time as ever. Surely you've seen it performed enough times to know how to do it."

Potter searched him nervously. "_Legilimens_."

He felt a faint flickering, but though Severus honestly tried to not resist, it soon dispelled. "Pathetic, Potter."

"That was my first try," Potter muttered.

"I don't think 'try' is the correct word, Potter. Again."

"_Legilimens_?"

Severus sneered. "Surely three years of magical education have taught you that you do not _ask_ for your spells to work." Potter's eyes flickered and his stance stiffened. Severus cursed mentally. _Be nice_, he reminded himself. _No matter what he does to deserve criticism. _Then he scrutinized the boy. The hesitance was gone. "Perhaps when you go against the Dark Lord you'll say, 'Pretty please, _stupefy_?' That's the stunning spell, Potter."

"I know that."

"I suppose Miss Granger has talked about it." His face said it all. "Perhaps we should bring her here, so she can explain Legilimency to you, since you're clearly incapable of simple tasks without her holding your—"

"_Legilimens!_"

Potter's spell took Snape by surprise—he had been working up to an insult about James Potter—and he forgot to release his shields. But Potter shattered through them like they didn't exist. _Granger with her bushy hair, throwing her hand in the air. Her careful, precise handwriting covering far more pages than necessary, much like Lily—Lily! Red hair, green eyes, laughing next to him, under the Sorting Hat, walking with him through the hallways, crying while Severus stood helplessly, yelling at him, on the train—_ Severus could feel Potter's curiosity. It was time to expel him.

But Potter fought back, a barely contained hurricane focused on finding out more about his mother. _Lily and Petunia, on the swings, and her carefree laugh as she threw herself off the swing, flying through the air like an acrobat. Sitting with Severus under a tree as he told her about Azkaban. Reclining on the grass with study notes. Experimenting with potions together, the scare when it exploded and they barely got shields up in time, laughing afterwards. 'You're my best friend, Sev," she said, twining her fingers through his._

"Enough." Severus's eyes focused slowly. His legs felt cramped—he was kneeling, he realized, and rose hastily. Potter stood above him, still pointing a wand at him. At least he was just as shaken. Severus wet his lips. "Very good, Potter. That was—" Though the boy had all the control of a raging hippopotamus, the powerful force ripping through his mind felt much like, well, the Dark Lord.

"You knew my mum?" Potter whispered. His arm trembled as he lowered his wand, and he stared into Severus's eyes as if trying to find more answers.

He closed his eyes. "Yes. I did. We were neighbours."

"And you liked her. You were friends. Sir."

"The best of friends. You don't have to call me that." Potter had been in his mind, knew his most intimate secret, had driven him to his knees with the force of his demand for information. "Except at Hogwarts."

"Okay? Are you going to stop calling me 'Potter', then?" He giggled a little.

"Don't be ridiculous." Severus glared, but there was no heat in it. "Go write up what Legilimency was like. I don't think I can handle another attack right now."

He meant it as a compliment of sorts, but Potter's eyes widened in concern. "Are you alright, sir? Er—"

"Quite," Severus said shortly, which meant his head was throbbing and his mind felt raw but he didn't need any pain potions. Probably. "I've had worse, Potter."

He bit his lip. "From who?"

Severus sighed, cursing himself for the slip. The boy was bound to find out eventually, but it would have been nice if it hadn't been while Severus was teaching him Legilimency. "The Dark Lord." Though Dumbledore had searched his mind thoroughly as he saw fit.

"_Voldemort?_ So you are—you—"

"Go write your damned godfather and he'll tell you all about it, I'm sure." Severus's lip curled, as it always did when he thought about the mutt. "He'll be delighted."

Potter frowned, but, fortunately, didn't retort.

* * *

The parchment had nearly been torn by the force of the quill that had been pressed on it. _Dumbledore says we can trust him, knows some special secret about him that means he's loyal, Sirius's letter concluded bitterly.__ I guess if we can't trust Dumbledore, we're lost already. But keep an eye on him. Learn Occlumency as quickly as you can. And stay safe._

Harry bit his lip. He wondered what Sirius would have said had he known that Harry had also been in Snape's mind.

_Probably that he's tricking you_, a voice in Harry's head said.

Probably, and yet it had seemed so real. The memories, the resistance, Snape's obvious pain and exhaustion—would he really fall to his knees for an act?

_He's a spy. That's what he does all the time._

_Yes, _argued the other voice, _but to me? He hates me._

Harry glanced at the time and started. He was due to have another session with Snape soon. If he went in like this, he would definitely spend the whole time trying to find out more about Snape's stint as one of Voldemort's followers—Death Eaters, they were called—and while he wanted to know more (and Snape was a git), the idea of forcing the knowledge from Snape was...

He sort of hoped Snape was showing him false images.

He needed to clear his mind, so Snape's memories slipped naturally through him. It always came back to that. Hermione had mentioned looking through textbooks, so he reached for one and began reading.

Defense of the Dark Arts reminded him of Voldemort. Transfiguration made him stressed. Potions made him mad at Snape again. Herbology reminded him of Potions. Harry chucked the book away and looked at the clock again. He had time to go for a short flight. His broom seemed to tingle happily when he touched it, excited to be going out again.

It felt a little like sneaking out, but he was doing it to do what Snape said, so Harry told himself it was alright. Snape's room was in the dungeon, but one of his doors opened (magically, Harry presumed) to the outside. The sky was blue and soon the wind rushing over his face and the swooping sensation as he dived drove all care out of his head.

"Flying, Potter?" Snape drawled when he returned.

"You said I could!"

"Indeed I did." The strange glint in Snape's gaze didn't disappear, however. Harry met his gaze stubbornly. A few surface emotions soon made him realize he was probing Snape—or his professor was projecting somehow. Either way, there was no sign of what was making Snape look at him like that. "Set your broom down somewhere so we can begin."

Harry adjusted his robes as he walked back, wand in hand. "Ready, sir."

Snape inclined his head. "Last time, you successfully penetrated my mind but were very taken with what you found there." Harry blushed. "As you noticed, your thoughts brought out certain memories to the fore of my mind. While I may, if you learn this successfully, eventually teach you to search for a specific piece of knowledge, you must first learn how to allow my thoughts to flow naturally."

"I understand, sir." Harry hesitated. "How will I know if I'm influencing your thoughts or not?"

"Trust me, Potter, you'll know. And if you don't know, I certainly will. Now, if you're ready?"

Harry knew what it felt like now, so unlike last time, he only needed one try to penetrate Snape's mind. This time, he noticed the disorientation he felt as foreign emotions and distorted scenes swirled around him. He had written that it was like he was in a memory (Tom Riddle's was the one he was thinking of, but he didn't write that) but it wasn't, not really. For one thing, he wasn't a spectator here viewing Snape's mind like it was a movie, and for another, the memories here did not progress in anything like a linear way.

Thinking about disorientation had apparently brought up memories about hesitant attempts at flight. Or maybe he'd just been thinking about flying because Harry had been flying. He couldn't tell, despite Snape's assurances.

_Stumbling on the wonderful, firm ground, that stick of wood sitting innocently on the grass not far from him. Potter and his coterie laughing. "You'd think he'd be better at it, since he looks so much like a bat." Dungbombs being thrown by a suit of armor, which he tried futilely to run from. Lily yelling at him in the Great Hall, making a commotion that could be heard even from the Slytherin table, where Snape smiled, the smell finally gone._

The other times, Harry had been overcome by horror from what he'd seen. But now he noticed a little…tug, he supposed, like friction. As he experimented, the tug seemed to lessen, until the memories slipped by without any resistance.

Yes! He had succeeded, he could tell he had! He wasn't thinking about how Snape was a Death Eater—

_Black robes and a white skull mask with holes for eyes. A herd of people, gathered around a man with red eyes and black hair and slightly inhuman features, bowing to him. "My most loyal," the man said with a lipless smile, his voice like a hiss, patting the seat next to him. Being let down, his face red. "I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" _Harry gasped as Lily blinked and turned away. _"What?" asked someone who looked like an older Draco Malfoy. "Do you still have _feelings_ for that mudblood?" A screaming woman's voice stopped as she collapsed, at the end of his wand, like a puppet whose stings were cut, and his neck broke out in a cold sweat that had nothing to do with the warm night. _

But why had he _left_? Oh—he had failed, he had thought about that Death Eater thing and he could _definitely _tell he was influencing Snape's thoughts, and Snape had called his mum a _mudblood _after she had helped him, but his dad had been humiliating him in front of the whole school. Harry didn't try to swallow his guilt and anger—

_Guilt. It seemed to wash the scene. "The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches…" The point of a wand and then Snape was unceremoniously thrown out._

_Now he knelt on the ground. "My lord. I have important news for you."_

_"__Rise, Severus." The lipless curve, the pale face. "What have you heard?"_

_He rose, still half bent. "I was in the Hogs Head, where Dumbledore had chosen to conduct interviews for the Divination position, listening on your behalf. The woman appeared a fraud of the usual sort, with no measure of the real gift. However, at the end, she seemed to go into a trance. The prophecy she uttered was—" Snape closed his eyes as he tried to remember, before opening them hastily, fearing the Dark Lord's displeasure "—'The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"_

_"__Is that all?"_

_"__I—" his mouth was dry "I was discovered, my lord, before I could hear the whole thing; I apologize, my lord—"_

_"__You heard enough," the Dark Lord said. "Very good. You will be well rewarded"_

And then Harry was ejected, but he couldn't have seen anything else anyways. His vision was red, red and dark on the edges with fury, as the scene's implications settled in.

* * *

_A/N: I'm sorry? Anyways, I've decided to take this a bit longer. I have ideas for a couple more chapters, and after that...we'll come to that when we reach it. As always, I live for your reviews. Especially tell me how you think I'm handling their interactions/emotions and the Legilimency experience!_


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